


Digestive System

by Zedrobber



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crack, Gen, PLEASE NOTE THE SPOILER TAG, Pure, SLIGHT spoilers for the Ghost Monument episode, Silly crack, The Ghost Monument, bad language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 04:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16298594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zedrobber/pseuds/Zedrobber
Summary: This is utter crack based on a headcanon I now have after watching the end of The Ghost Monument [SLIGHT SPOILERS AHEAD]----Where the TARDIS dispensed a custard cream and I now thoroughly headcanon her as being able to dispense biscuits and tea at will. So I obviously put the Master & Missy in there with Thirteen for no real reason other than to cover the Master in biscuits. This has no plot, no merit, and is literally just (hopefully) funny crack.If you are not UK based and need to know what a bourbon or a digestive is, a bourbon is a chocolate flavoured cookie type biscuit with three layers- two crunchy and one chocolately-cream oreo filling textured centre, and a digestive is a plain wheat biscuit which is good to dunk in tea but not massively flavoursome on its own. It's brown and round and quite heavy when launched at speeds. Thank you to my wife shadow-in-the-shade for laughing this out with me.





	Digestive System

“Custard cream, please.”

The TARDIS obligingly dispensed the biscuit with a neat, satisfied little  _ ding. _

“Aww, thanks.” The Doctor patted the console affectionately, munching on the biscuit with glee. “You shuff tryh it thu,” she said through a mouthful of crumbs, jerking her chin at the dispenser.

“That’s disgusting,” the Master said, grimacing at the shower of biscuit debris as it hit the floor.

“Oooh! Bourbon, please,” Missy said with relish, leaning forward. 

_ Ding. _

“Lovely!” She took her biscuit and nibbled it delicately. “She remembers all the work I did on her last time. How is it, old girl? Running smoothly still?” She touched the console lightly, feeling it hum under her fingertips. 

“Oh please,” the Master groaned. He eyed the dispenser warily. “I want - oh, I don’t know. Give me a bourbon as well.”

_ Ding.  _

“That’s a digestive,” he said in irritation. “I want a BOURBON.”

_ Ding!  _ it dinged, rather smugly, the Doctor thought.

“Another digestive. I hate digestives, they’re so  _ dull.” _

“Maybe it’s a malfunction. Let me try,” the Doctor suggested. “Custard cream, please!”

_ Ding! _

“Nice one!” She took the biscuit happily. “Nope. Just you. Shame, that.”

“Why would it-”

“She remembers what you did to her,” the Doctor said softly and dangerously, with a raised eyebrow and a protective hand on the console. 

“That was  _ years _ ago, surely it-”

“She-”

“ _ IT  _ can’t hold a grudge that long? Bourbon, please!”

_ Ding.  _ Now that was passive aggressive.

“Another fucking digestive??! I said please!” The Master smacked the TARDIS console in frustration. “You make it give me one.”

“That won’t work.”

“Do it anyway.”

“She can still see you.”

“I don’t care.”

She sniffed. “Alright. Hey, do you think I could get a bourbon for Mister Grumpy Beard, please?”

_ Ding. _

“Oooh, it’s a- ah no, it’s a digestive,” the Doctor said with an unapologetic shrug, flourishing the offending biscuit and then eating it like a squirrel with a hard-won acorn.

“DAMN YOU, I WANT A BOURBON-” the Master kicked at one of the supporting struts.

“I wouldn’t do that, dearest,” Missy drawled. “You’re not exactly making friends.”

“Give- me- a - damn- bourbon, or I’ll rip you apart again-” he punctuated every word with petulant kicks, scowling.

_ Ding. Dingdingdingdingdingdingdingding- _

A stream of  beautiful wheaten digestives arced out of the dispenser elegantly, landing in a heaped and crumb-laden pile at the Master’s feet.

“Could I have a bourbon, please?” Missy asked with a wicked and terrible gleam in her eye.

_ Ding! _

“Much obliged.”

“Give me that biscuit-”

Missy stuffed the whole thing into her mouth without pause. “Wha biscut?”

“I hate you.”

_ Ding, _ it said, dramatically.

“Oh, come  _ on. _ I didn’t even ask.”

The Doctor laughed. “You know we’re parked right outside a Tesco, right? You could  _ totally _ just go and buy your own bourbons.”

“That is not the point, it’s the  _ principle of it all.  _ I will not be defeated by a machine.” He took a breath, face red with fury. “Bourbon biscuit!” he bellowed at the dispenser. There was a tense, ominous silence while no one breathed.

_ Ding. Ding. DingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDing - _

“I’m drowning in fucking digestives!” howled the Master, disappearing rather rapidly under an emerging pyramid of digestive biscuits as they shot out of multiple slots in the console at once. 

Silence for a moment as the Master tried to fight his way out, eventually popping his head above the mountain of biscuits. He gasped for breath, mouth wide open.

_ Oh no, _ the Doctor thought, knowing it was just too tempting for the old girl.

…

_ Ding,  _ it said, smartly, launching a digestive right into the Master’s gaping mouth.

The Doctor snorted. Missy chortled and ordered another bourbon without incident.

“You know what, I’m gonna just go and buy you some biscuits,” the Doctor said, scrunching her face up and trying valiantly not to dissolve into laughter. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared out of the door.

The TARDIS whooshed in gentle defiance at the Master. The Master glared back. “Don’t you dare. I should have shredded every last circuit.”

“Darling, I don’t think you should say that sort of thing to her-”

“Oh, it’s a her to  _ you _ as well, is it? Bloody typical. You’re just as bad as the Doctor.”

“-yes, but she can hear you.”

“I don’t care,” the Master said, sulkily. He dragged his arms out of the pile of biscuits and folded them over his chest in an attempt to not look like he was in a pile of biscuits.

_ Ding. _

“She does,” Missy said with a not-at-all sympathetic grin as the Master was hit in the forehead, dead centre, by another flying biscuit.

He managed to scramble his way out of the pyramid by the time the Doctor arrived, grinning and mischievous. “I got you your biscuits,” she said, handing him a carrier bag. “And save the bag, it was 5p!”

Admitting defeat, the Master sighed and rummaged in the bag. “At last, bourbons,” he said, lifting the packet out.

“Nah,” the Doctor grinned, nose wrinkling in barely contained mirth as his expression slid back into a pained scowl. “Digestives.”

 

\--

  
  



End file.
